


walls

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky just wants to help, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve is emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky knocked on the door in front of him impatiently, having to resist the urge to just kick it out of the way when he heard shuffling on the other side, followed by an exasperated sigh. Because even though Sam was always willing to talk Bucky through any trouble he was having and Bucky was eternally grateful for that, today’s visit wasn’t about him at all. And it was evident in his nonexistent patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walls

 

Bucky knocked on the door in front of him impatiently, having to resist the urge to just kick it out of the way when he heard shuffling on the other side, followed by an exasperated sigh. Because even though Sam was always willing to talk Bucky through any trouble he was having and Bucky was eternally grateful for that, today’s visit wasn’t about him at all. And it was evident in his nonexistent patience.

Finally opening the door, Sam stepped to the side and gestured for Bucky to come in, a frown curving his lips after seeing the murderous expression on Bucky’s face.

Which is why Bucky found no point in wasting any time before demanding, “What’s wrong with Steve?”

_And so much for pleasantries._

Sam sighed and lifted an eyebrow, making his way towards the back room he used as an office as Bucky followed behind. “Gonna have to be more specific than that, man.”

Bucky huffed, somehow becoming even more impatient. “I found a prescription bottle in his kitchen drawer.” He said, voice level and tight. “He said it was for headaches.”

Sam leaned a hip up against the desk, choosing to ignore that obvious breach in privacy since this was _BuckyandSteve_ they were talking about. “And?”

“And I could tell he was lying. Besides, I thought the serum took care of all of his medical problems. He shouldn’t be getting migraines anymore.”

Shouldn’t be getting migraines, shouldn’t be getting sick. For all intents and purposes, Steve was supposed to be the perfect specimen of human health. So Bucky didn’t understand what was wrong, was terrified to think of the possibilities. Was there some side effect of the serum he hadn’t been told about? Had the serum somehow begun to deteriorate and Steve’s body along with it?

He had an inkling of what was going on, but was praying he was wrong and it was just him overreacting. But the secrecy behind it was putting him even more on edge. Because if it was just a simple problem, why had Steve tried so desperately to hide it?

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Which of course meant Sam just shook his head and said, “You know it’s not my place to discuss Steve’s personal health issues with you. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you himself. You’ve just gotta be patient.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, patience isn’t my strong suit when it comes to Steve.” He dropped a notebook on the desk right next to Sam’s hand, feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt at its contents. “I looked up the medication and it’s a sedative with enough dosage to kill an elephant. And I’m not stupid, I’ve seen the way he gets some days. I hear him at night. Now tell me what the _hell_ is happening in my best friend’s head that makes giving him tranquilizers a good idea.”

Sam let out another sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. “You two really are something else…” He shook his head. “Look, you can yell at me all you want, but I will _not_ break my patient’s trust, my _friend’s_ trust.” He stared Bucky straight in the eye, letting the words sit. “However, I’m tired of watching you two stare a solution in the face and refuse to take it, especially when I know it’ll help both of you. So I’ll just say this: Steve isn’t as well adjusted and indestructible as he’d like you to think he is. And you aren’t as unneeded as you think you are.” He walked over to his desk and pulled out a sketchpad, holding it out to Bucky with a purposeful look in his eye.

“Steve left this here, think you can return it for me?”

Bucky nodded, taking the book and tucking it beneath his arm as Sam led him back towards the door. He knew he hadn’t gotten any actual answers from Sam, but he felt like he’d been given enough clues to go back and work through things on his own. So he’d leave the other man alone for now. Besides, he did respect Sam’s loyalty, even if it was keeping him from helping Steve.

The trip back to the tower was spent mulling over Sam’s words, trying to decipher what they meant. Possibilities and hopes mingled in his thoughts until he could hardly distinguish one from the other and he let out a breath in frustration before flipping open Steve’s notebook.

If it was anyone else’s work, he’d never dare look before asking, but Steve had never had a problem with Bucky checking out what he was working on. He’d been given the green card to snoop through Steve’s projects decades ago.

But even all the years he’d looked through Steve’s notebooks couldn’t prepare him for what he saw inside. (Not that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, in fact it was so similar to Steve’s old stuff that he checked the price label at the back of the book, just to make sure it was wasn’t a depression-age relic.)

It wasn’t.

And with that in mind, he quickly flipped back through the book, taking in all of the images Steve had etched onto the pages and feeling something twist in his chest.

Because it was _them,_ or at least Bucky assumed it was. It was Bucky’s face, Bucky’s arms wrapped around a slim figure pressed tight to his chest. And he just knew the second person was Steve, but no matter how many sketches he looked at, not a single one showed the other man’s face.

He didn’t know how he felt about that. How he felt about Steve erasing himself from something that had been so important to the both of them. Because those sketches were all of positions they used to use back before the war, positions for when Steve’s asthma was acting up or when he was sick or when Bucky just wanted to hold him. Nothing sexual, not really, not unless they wanted it to be. But so incredibly intimate that Bucky couldn’t help but brush his fingers gently across the pages.

They hadn’t really been like that since Steve changed. Some of the reason was because Steve was kind of big for most of them (as strong as Bucky was back then, there was no way he could’ve held all 240 pounds of Steve’s newly muscled form for any extended period of time), but mostly it was because Bucky had figured Steve didn’t need it anymore. Didn’t need the comfort and protection his arms had offered because Steve was more than capable of taking care of himself after Erskine’s formula had taken hold.

Apparently, he had been very wrong in making that assumption. And as much as he felt guilty for never actually asking Steve about it, he couldn’t help the little jolt of hope that stumbled its way through his veins. Because the idea that Steve still _needed_ him…he had all but pushed it from his mind as a long forgotten dream.

But if the sketches in Steve’s notebook were anything to go by, Steve hadn’t stopped thinking about it either. And maybe he was missing it too, needed it as much as Bucky did.

And there was only one way to find out.

[=====]

He started out small, testing the water with simple things that wouldn’t send up any red flags. Like giving Steve some of his breakfast in the morning, or handing him a water bottle in the gym. He started touching him more, too, a friendly hand on the shoulder or a brush of arms standing side by side. And Steve just smiled at all of it, took what was offered to him with a murmur of _thanks,_ or _hey, Buck,_ and went on with his day.

At least that’s what _had_ been happening, before Bucky decided to be more obvious and pull Steve into a hug after their latest mission, holding him close and brushing fingers through his hair and down his back. Steve hadn’t smiled then, had tensed up and stepped back instead, extricating himself from Bucky’s hold with a worried set to his jaw.

“Buck,” he said. “We…” Then he seemed to think better of it, went with something else instead. “I need to go check in with Fury, tell him the report.”

And then he was gone.

And Bucky finally saw what Sam was saying about Steve not having it entirely together, not with the way Steve had shot out of the room like it was on fire.

The fact that it was _Bucky_ he was running from just made it that much worse.

[=====]

Steve was standing in the middle of Sam’s living room, trying to stay in his standard parade rest but ending up pacing instead.

Because he’d thought Bucky was getting a little closer than usual, but he’d never imagined it was for… _that._ He refused to believe it, to accept it. There had to be some kind of explanation, some motivation, something Bucky had seen or heard that made him feel obligated t-

“You going to actually tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

Steve looked over at Sam and shook his head. “No, it’s- I just needed somewhere to go.” Sam lifted an eyebrow at that, and Steve knew he’d never be able to get himself out of this. Like Natasha always said, he was _terrible_ at lying. “Something happened with Bucky,” he explained. “But it’ll be fine, we’ll work it out.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sam said, moving to lean against the doorjamb. “Care to tell me what’s going on anyways?”

But there was something about his voice, his face, that told Steve he already knew more than he was letting on. He narrowed his eyes. “Something tells me I don’t need to.” And then it all started to make sense. “You talked to Bucky, didn’t you?”

Sam didn’t even have to say a word, his expression said it all for him, and Steve felt something like hurt and betrayal bubble up in his chest.

But Sam beat him to the punch. “I didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already found out on his own. In fact, I didn’t tell him anything. I just told him you both needed to figure some shit out and stop running from the obvious solution.”

“The- Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“I have eyes,” Sam said calmly. “I’m pretty sure everyone who’s ever seen you two together could get to the same conclusion I did.”

Steve blew out a breath, continuing his pacing and shaking his head. Because it was ridiculous, what Sam was saying. They had always been careful in the past, and nowadays Steve was always careful not to force Bucky into anything or expect too much of him. He was _careful._

“You ever think that this could be good for both of you?” Sam asked, breaking Steve’s train of thought, voice so sincere that Steve actually had to stop and stare.

“How could this _possibly_ be good?”

It was dependency; it was weakness; it was something that could be used against them, break them and hurt them more than they already had been. And he couldn’t put that on Bucky, not again, couldn’t have that kind of weight resting on his shoulders. Couldn’t just dump all of his problems into Bucky’s waiting arms.

But Sam didn’t seem to get it.

“Because you need someone to make sure you’re not overdoing it.” Sam said, then held up a hand when Steve tried to interrupt, fixed him with a knowing look. “And maybe Bucky needs to be responsible for something that isn’t fifty different flavors of death and destruction.”

Steve’s jaw clenched shut at that, eyebrows furrowing as he considered the possibility.

“Besides,” Sam continued. “Isn’t that the arrangement you two had way back in the good ol’ days? If he didn’t mind it then, I doubt he’ll mind it now.”

But Steve just shook his head, because thatwas something he’d already asked himself, had grappled with until coming to the inevitable conclusion- “That’s the point, Sam. I’ve caused Buck enough trouble. It’s time I learn to take care of things myself.”

Sam looked completely unimpressed. “That’s great, Cap.” He said. “But you see, the thing about friends? Is that you don’t _have_ to.”

And it was those _words,_ those words that had Steve snapping nearly a century into the past, remembering a strong hand on his shoulder and warm, encouraging eyes.

And just like that day so many years ago, Steve simply cracked a rueful smile and slipped back through the door, Bucky’s words echoing in his head and a pit in his heart where something important used to be.

[=====]

It was dark in the apartment when he got back, shutting the door behind him with a glimmer of hope in his chest that maybe they didn’t have to do this tonight. That it could be pushed off until morning or next week or next month or possibly even the next century (since he and Bucky seemed to be capable of that sort of thing).

But that hope was dashed as soon as he heard the low creak of the floorboards, Bucky emerging from the bedroom and standing in the hallway, just staring at Steve with an unreadable expression on his face and a posture that said he wasn’t sure where they stood. And that…that’s not what Steve wanted either.

“Buck,” he sighed. “We don’t have t-”

“Stop.” Bucky said, stepping forward to where the light cast interesting shadows on his face, arms crossed and eyes unyielding. “Can we please have this conversation without you pulling that one out? I get it. I don’t have to do anything. You don’t need me. You don’t need to say it again.”

Steve froze as if Bucky’d slapped him, blinking once before saying slowly, “Buck, that’s not what I meant. I’d never…”

“Well, it’s what it sounds like. And it’s not like I don't already know, knew as soon as I saw all those men cheering for you that you didn’t need me anymore. Had hardly needed me before that, but as soon as Captain America got a hold of you…there was nothing for me to do was there?” Bucky’s voice wasn’t angry, but was harsh and broken, hurt. In a way that had guilt gripping hot and thick at Steve’s chest, clogging up his throat.

Bucky’s face softened at Steve’s silence and he took another step forward, arms falling open in a way that made Steve want to bury his face in the side of his neck.

“I _want_ to do things for you, Steve. _I_ want that. And I know you don’t need it, but I still want to do it anyways. I just _want-_ I want to be your best guy again. Is that so wrong?”

“No, it’s- it’s not wrong, Buck.” Steve said, heart shattered on the inside, bleeding over until he felt weak with it, barely able to push forward. “But we just _can’t._ ”

“Why?” Bucky asked, face turning down again, voice tight. And with a strange kind of horror, Steve realized there were tears in the corners of his eyes. “I want you to sleep on my chest again, want to hold you like we used to. Why can’t we do that again, especially if it’s what we both want? And don’t lie to me and say you don’t want it, because I know you do. I’m not stupid, Steve.”

Steve just shook his head, all of his carefully constructed walls and barriers crumbling around him, the very floor trembling beneath his feet.

But Bucky kept pushing. “Tell me, Steve. Tell me what the hell happened to you that did this? What the hell happened that made you think we couldn’t have this? That _you_ couldn’t have this?”

He was closer now, within arm’s reach and practically vibrating with a hurt kind of fury. But not at Steve, never at Steve. But at the people who had made them so twisted, unable to fit together like they should. Chipped pieces of a puzzle trying to come back together.

“Please, Steve.” He murmured. “Please, just give me one night. Try it again for just one more night and then tell me we can’t.”

Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from saying yes, to keep himself from falling headfirst into temptation and the release Bucky’s offer promised. (Because what Bucky didn’t realize is that Steve wanted it just as badly, wanted it so much it hurt like being torn apart.) Not trusting himself to speak, he just shook his head again, trying to convey with his expression everything he couldn’t say.

“Goddammit, Steve,” Bucky yelled, finally breaking. “Why won’t you even fucking _try?_ ”

“Because I can’t do that to you, not again,” Steve shouted back, final wall breaking, floodgates open and the painful, ugly truth pouring out. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Because that’s the truth. I can’t even close my eyes without seeing you fall, seeing where they kept you.” He pulled in a shaky breath, lungs not working right and throat constricted. Voice barely audible. “And the ice, Buck, it’s always _everywhere._ And I just know if I close my eyes it’ll happen all over again. I’ll wake up and everyone will be gone. So I just _can’t-_ ” His voice broke and he shook his head. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Buck, you weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed t-”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky said, sounding just as broken as Steve felt. “Please, just let me hold you. Please.” He opened his arms again and took the final step forward, making it that much easier for Steve to fold himself into Bucky’s embrace, bury his face in a familiar shoulder and let tears hit fabric for the first time in over seventy years.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” He whispered. “I didn’t mean to.” _Didn’t mean for you to find out, didn’t mean for you to feel responsible, didn’t mean to put all this on your shoulders._

“Shhh,” Bucky rubbed a hand along Steve’s back. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me, glad that I know how to take care of you now.” He turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the side of Steve’s head, keep his lips there as he murmured. “And don’t you ever think you’re alone. Because Iwant this too, Ineed this just as much as you do. And you’re not some kind of inconvenience either, because I don’t even know what to do with myself if I don’t have you.”

[=====]

If there was one good thing about the arm Hydra gave him, it was that he could hold Steve again.

And as he took in the muted city light coming in the window, the way it illuminated Steve’s profile tucked up against his chest, he was in a twisted way grateful for what had happened to him. Because this way he could at least keep Steve safe, pick him up or move him around, do all of the things he’d been able to do when they were just two young punks fresh out into the world. (Something Steve had missed as much as he had, if the way Steve had gone completely boneless from being carried just the short distance from the entryway to the bedroom was anything to go by.)

“You okay, Stevie?” He asked softly, not wanting to break the silence but knowing all the same that he couldn’t let Steve drift off into a bad space. A space of doubting himself and whether or not he deserved what they were doing. And he knew from experience the most dangerous Steve was often a silent one.

Steve hummed quietly against his chest in response, a soothing rumble from the heaviest, warmest blanket known to man.

Bucky threaded his fingers through blond hair, tugged lightly then with a bit more force, coaxing Steve’s face up until those red-rimmed eyes were fluttering open to look at him. “Need an answer, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice laced with something that sent a shiver down both of their spines.

Steve whined low in his throat. “ _Bucky_.”

And it wasn’t an exact answer, but it was one Bucky could work with, a confirmation that Steve was allowing himself to fall and letting Bucky be there to catch him. Later, they’d have to have a talk about this, about what they were doing, but for now Bucky was content to let Steve go limp and pliant against his chest.

“Love you, you punk.” He murmured, low into the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’re my best guy, gonna remind you of that as much as I can.”

[=====]

 

 


End file.
